You Know Where You Can Stick It...

Good People,

There are few things I hate in this world more than faux organization. Some people are organized, some are not. Some people LIKE being organized, some do not. That's all peaches and cream. I get it. I can deal. But don't front like you're all organized and come at me with some nonsense. The Temp might be able to dazzle some higher ups by simply uttering the magical phrase "spreadsheet" but I know better. (Some suits get weak in the knees when they hear "Excel", big fucking whoop.) The Temp's spreadsheet is shit. I've axed most of his columns, added a couple, rearranged information in a way that is *gasp* useful and made this spreadsheet so efficient as to be unrecognizable from the original.

But my current grumble is not about the spreadsheet, so let's move on.

The Temp is out of my life, hopefully forever. But what did he leave in his wake? A mountain of post-its stuck to one another. This, his magnum opus. I don't know if he had some traumatic notebook-related accident as a child that prevents him from leaving information in an organized manner or what but this is just sticky chaos. Did he take my instructions to write down all relevant information and organize it in a cohesive manner literally?

Am I really supposed to make heads or tails of this? Is the top sticky the most important? The most recent? The attention-starved sticky? The supreme leader of all stickies? I feel like I'm looking for clues into the last days of Howard Hughes.

I would have preferred that he just didn't do anything in my absence than leave me his "notes." Back to square -1.